


The Hitchhiker's Guide To An AU

by ThisShallNeverBeMentioned



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy References, M/M, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisShallNeverBeMentioned/pseuds/ThisShallNeverBeMentioned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A non-linear, nonsensical telling of Michael Jones' encounters with an alien. Gavin Free is a freelance journalist for the Guide, and more trouble than he's worth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Restaurant - part four of the unknown

**Author's Note:**

> I have absolutely no clue what's going on.

Light from what seemed like millions of tiny star lights set in the deep turquoise above spilled out and across the bar, the tables, the floor. Various tribal patterns from long-dead civilisations, and horrible clashing colours that drifted from pastel into ultramarines were set into the furniture and upholstery. The widest array of bi-peds and tri-peds and no-peds and milli-peds clustered and chattered and ate and drank and laughed uproariously, all lit by the extravagant crystal chandelier, as big as a small-sized asteroid that hung in the centre of everything.

A large velvet curtain pulled closed over the entirety of the front wall served as the main focal point for the last eatery to exist in time and space as it was known: Milliways.

Michael had less than no clue exactly how he ended up here.

He had been fighting a headache for the past fifteen minutes – a side effect of the time journey that transported him to Milliways, he was informed by the helpful little green blob of a waiter – and in the absence of an aspirin he sipped at his not-quite mineral water and tried to avoid looking at his companion.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t so easy when the interior decorating at the restaurant made his head throb even more. Even closing his eyes couldn’t completely block out the after image of light and haze and the slow realisation that the occupants of the table closest to him were devouring their meal through long proboscises with a shudder-inducing _slurp_.

He sighed, and gave in, opening his eyes once more to quietly study the man across the table.

Gavin Free looked every bit an Earthman. With tan skin and shaggy light brown hair and a distinct lack of any extra appendages – at least judging from his outward appearance – and even his uncanny knack for mix-matching his clothes seemed almost normal compared to their surroundings.

However, Gavin was anything but an Earthman. Michael’s slowly returning memory helpfully supplied that though he had at first thought that, judging by the accent, Gavin was from jolly old England, he was in fact from one of the small planets in the vicinity of Betelgeuse. (That this planet was also called Oxfordshire was just another unexplained coincidence that the Universe tended to throw out.)

So Gavin wasn’t from Earth, and Michael was currently very far from home, and even if he weren’t sitting at a table in the Restaurant at the End of the Universe, he would still be so, so far from home, as he had been since Gavin Free had come crashing into his life.

And into his living room.

“Michael?”

He jolted. Gavin was looking at him curiously, peeking out over the top of the wine list he’d been studying, and he realised he’d been staring. With a huff, Michael readjusted the towel over his shoulders and pointedly looked away, still catching Gavin’s grin out of the corner of his eye.

They hadn’t talked properly since they arrived – mainly due to Michael’s demeanour and disorientation – and indeed Michael hadn’t said a word past asking for something to drink. Gavin had ordered dinner for the both of them after noticing Michael’s utterly perplexed expression as he gazed at his menu. Many of the words and symbols had been translated by the small yellow fish in his ear – he shuddered involuntarily at the memory of its insertion – but the meanings were lost on him. Hardly anything had sounded even slightly like food, and what had been decipherable wasn’t very encouraging, so he’d been forced to trust Gavin’s judgement and just hope that whatever they were served, he could eat.

“Aploxi pudding with tearnana excretions and oboe-lacto crystals for two?”

Their server had reappeared, weaving between tables, voice rough and monotone and indicating that he had long ago lost any hint of enthusiasm, and carrying a large silver platter in one long three fingered hand. Gavin nodded and waved enthusiastically, encouraging the server to put the platter down, which he did, and with a cursory “enjoy” removed the lid and left them to it.

It looked like an icecream sundae, at least at first glance, until what Michael had taken for a waffle suddenly split down the centre and revealed shiny ice teeth that formed into a grin.

“And how are we this evening?” It said in a sugary voice.

Michael’s jaw dropped and he hastily shuffled backwards in his chair, looking up at Gavin, who was grinning even more broadly than he thought possible.

“Pretty top, actually, yourself?” he asked, picking up a fork.

“Oh, fine, fine, looking forward to it, I’m positively steaming!”

Gavin chuckled, and reached out to dig a forkful of the meal out of the rest, bringing it to his lips and chewing, and to Michael’s horror, he could hear the morsel squeaking from Gavin’s mouth.

“Ooh, very nice teeth, sir, if you don’t mind me saying. I am perfectly masticated!”

Michael launched himself up from the table - ignoring his knocked over chair, ignoring the mutters of the nearby tables, and ignoring Gavin calling his name - and stormed off across the restaurant in an effort to put as much space as possible between himself and that- that.

He couldn’t deal with this. His head hurt, he was tired, he was pretty much lost in space, and though he’d had to manage a swift learning curve of the strange and unexpected, he didn’t think he could hold onto his stomach long enough to sit through whatever the hell kind of meal Gavin had dragged him to.

There was a long couch running the length of the wall where the curtain hung, and Michael sunk down to sit in a corner, hiking his legs up in front of him, leaning his head back and closing his eyes on the world. He needed time to think and not think, as he so often tried to do in his predicament, though he knew he wouldn’t be left alone for long.

His life hadn’t been exciting, per say, but it had been comfortable. He had been comfortable on Earth, in a steady if slightly infuriating job as an electrician, with a good sized apartment and a wide array of video games, friends online and in real life and a regular outing to one of the many bars in town set into his schedule. He hadn’t needed anything more, not really. But that was just one of the many lies he told himself.

There had been times when he would seek a quiet space, and he would think about the world and his nice neat life and wonder how? How could there not be more?

And the Universe had answered him.

“Michael?” The shift of the couch told him Gavin was sitting next to him, and sure enough a hand found it’s way to his arm. “Michael, what’s the matter?”

“Go away, Gavin.”

The hand squeezed his arm. “What’s wrong?”

Michael groaned, and let his head rest on his knees, shaking off Gavin’s hand and folding his arms around, curling in on himself.

Gavin wasn’t quiet for long, and the anxious shifting was evident in his voice. “Are you not hungry?”

Before he could answer, try and convince Gavin to leave him, the lights went out, and the sudden darkness was enough for Michael to lift his head, suddenly uncurling and moving to stand, nerves jumping.

“What’s going-”

“Shhh!”

Gavin grabbed his arm again, and it was only the excitement in his voice that stopped Michael, and he turned in an attempt to see through the pitch-black just as a spotlight lit up the stage and a flamboyantly dressed figure leapt out in front.

“ _Ladies and gentlemen and variations in between,_ ” he cried into his microphone, and Michael was vaguely aware of Gavin’s hand sliding down his arm to his fingers.

“ _The Universe as we know it has now been in existence_ …”

Gavin whispered, tugging on his fingers. “Michael, sit down.”

“… _the absolute end, the penultimate, the final chilling destination_ …”

“I’m sorry.” Gavin was still speaking quietly, directly into his ear as he sat back on the couch, and he turned with a confused expression. Gavin’s face was pinched into a sad smile, and his frown deepened.

“For what? Kidnapping me?” Michael’s eyes flicked to the stage and back again. “Bit late for that.”

“… _because there won’t_ be _any mornings…_ ”

Gavin shook his head, squeezing Michael’s fingers, and quickly glanced away as the curtain they sat in front of started lifting.

“I’m sorry for ruining our date.”

“Our- what, Gavin-”

“… _welcomes you, to the End of the Universe!_ ”

When the curtain rose, accompanied by a resounding chorus of dramatic music from the band – the Space Odyssey theme mixed in amongst the neon violins – and grey light poured in across the restaurant. Great spirals of dying galaxies lit up like fireworks and collapsed in on themselves, and exploding worlds scattered into stardust and then imploded into atoms, before the atoms fell into non-being, and the end swirled on past the giant observation window of Milliways. The other patrons watched with _oohs_ and _aahs_ , jaws dropped in horrified wonder, and the soothsayers cried out in triumphant laughter. All stared out, eyes glued to the last sight of anything to see, before the restaurant would reset and get ready for another round.

Michael only saw half of the end, though he wouldn’t admit it, too focused on the shaggy-haired silhouette beside him and the fingers around his. After all, he figured, they could always come back and see it again.

 

…

 

“You writing the review?” Michael asked a half hour later, as they made their way out of Milliways and down to the ship, readying themselves for the reverse time journey to take them back to where they’d left off.

Gavin nodded and hummed, scribbling into his little electronic notebook with the tip of his pinkie finger. He paused, crossed something out and scribbled four words into the column, slipping the notebook into his pocket before Michael could see.

“Not going to show me?”

He shook his head. “Nah,” he shrugged, sticking his thumbs in his jeans. “It’s not that interesting.”

Michael frowned but let it go, and was soon far too involved in trying to stop his head from exploding and Gavin from throwing up all over the console, and by the time he remembered to question Gavin about what he’d said when the Universe had ended, it was too late.

…

Meanwhile, the great publishing corporation of Ursa Minor received an electronic message and update from one of it’s journalists. Yet another review to add to the page on Milliways restaurant, a simple praise of service and sniping remark on the showiness, and a little sub note that clearly hadn’t been intended to be published.

Unfortunately, as so often happens with large companies on Friday afternoons, the drone checking and approving incoming messages was more than looking forward to logging out and sleeping the weekend away, that the four words were not picked up, and subsequently sent through as a tag line to the review, updated for anyone with a working copy of the Guide to see.

_Worst first date ever._


	2. The Ride - part two of the unknown

 

Space was nothing like Michael had been expecting.

Granted, he hadn’t seen much of it yet, but the small glance he’d managed out of a ship window hadn’t shown him anything he hadn’t seen in NASA photos or any episode of Star Trek. Maybe he was desensitised to the idea, growing up with films and video games and stories about Space.

Or maybe it just hadn’t sunk in yet.

Michael slumped back against the wall with a sigh, and glanced down at the lightly snoring figure on the floor beside him. He was tired, but couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep like his… companion.

 _Sub-Etha transport_ he’d been told _tends to mess with your brain_. Usually it was best to counteract it with a high dose of heavy food and drink and no small amount of salt, but unfortunately, they didn’t have any. Not to mention they were hiding away in the bowels of some unknown spaceship for who knows how long and fingers crossed that they didn’t get found.

At least they’d managed to find a relatively clean cupboard to hide in.

A small book lay open on Michael’s lap. The flat electronic screen buzzed away to itself, idling as it waited for input, some spacey 3D screensaver shapes drifting across the screen. Less than twenty minutes ago, it had displayed a concise rundown of information on the type of ship they were on: a Brilliantine Cargo Cruiser. Crews could range from any number of species, as it was a popular Starship brand, and Michael had lit up at the idea of meeting them, until he’d been reminded that they were practically stowaways, and Gavin had-

He let out another huff of air as he gave his sleeping companion another look. Tan skin, fluffy hair, strange attire, a two part metal ring on his thumb and a small bag full of who knew what. The alien that had kidnapped him from Earth.

Okay, not really kidnapped. Just mildly brainwashed him until he’d thought it would actually be a good idea to run out of his apartment in his pyjamas to jump on a spaceship with a stranger.

Said spaceship suddenly lurched, and the movement would have sent Michael crashing against the opposite wall had he not put his feet out to stop himself. The same could not be said for Gavin.

“Ow!”

Holding his head in one hand and his hip in the other, he struggled to right himself, blinking owlishly. He gave a cursory glance around the cupboard, and then his eyes fell on Michael.

“Did you do that?”

Michael frowned. “Did I make the spaceship we’re hiding in jerk to a stop?”

“Oh. Right.”

He stood up, stretching his arms above his head, and a small smile started forming as he looked down at Michael.

“What?”

Gavin shrugged, still smiling. “You’re in space and you’re still grumpy.”

“Yeah, well it hasn’t exactly been-”

The door opened and they both jumped.

“What the fuck are you two assholes doing on my ship?”

Gavin shrieked, scrabbling for his satchel and pulling out a green chequered towel – promptly spilling everything else in the bag across the floor – jumped in front of Michael who was frozen in place on the floor and waved it at the man in the doorway.

There was a pause in which the man stared at the towel in his face, looked down at Michael, and calmly back at Gavin, who had his eyes scrunched almost closed. The man’s eyes widened.

“ _Gavin_?”

Gavin peeked out from behind his towel, and let out another warbling squeak.

“Geoff?”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Geoffrey!” Gavin launched himself into the laughing man’s outstretched arms. “Since when do you drive a Brilliantine? And out _here_.”

“Hey, don’t knock it, it’s a nice corner of the Galaxy, very quiet, barely any traffic,” He smiled over Gavin’s shoulder. “And apparently where you’ve been hiding yourself away, huh?”

Gavin pulled himself free. “I got stuck.” He announced, not looking the least bit embarrassed.

Geoff laughed, clapping Gavin on the shoulder and then settling his eyes on Michael before offering a hand.

“Did Gavin drag you out of bed or something?” he asked, eyes crinkling.

Michael accepted the hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. “He broke into my apartment and ate all my food.”

“Sounds like Gavin, alright. Now come on, we’ve got two very important things to attend to and neither of them are possible in a cable cupboard.”

After stuffing Gavin’s miscellaneous belongings back in his bag, they followed Geoff out of the small space, Gavin practically skipping.

“What have we got to do, Geoff?”

“One: you need to catch me up on what you’ve been doing. And two:” Geoff grinned and slung an arm around each of them. “I need a beer, and from the look of it, so do you two.”

 

. . .

 

Geoff’s spaceship at first glance seemed to be cobbled together from all sorts of spare parts and materials. As Michael looked closer, he realised this was because that was exactly what it was. Between hallways that seemed to be in almost pristine condition were splashes of colour and different textures meshed into one on the same wall, and bits of twisted wire that almost became sculptures before they vanished back into the ceiling. Wooden columns that would be more at home in a pirate ship, woven strips of material instead of rope, and intricately welded casings and instruments that on closer inspection were made from melted and bent cutlery.

Gavin seemed instantly at ease, and not at all surprised by the interior of the ship, and Michael couldn’t help but relax as well. Geoff gave off a caring, fatherly sort of feeling, and the other crew they met were equally friendly.

They passed by another window, and this time Michael stopped.

Outside, the familiar stars had gone, the black of the night sky filled up with a vibrant green light that floated in misty waves off the planet below them. The surface roiled like lava, and the mottled greens and blues made it look like acid. As he watched, another small ship drifted past the window, the green light waves swirling around it. It hit him. He was in Space. Not on Earth, not watching a film, not playing a game, and – he pinched himself and flinched – not dreaming.

A gentle plucking at his sleeve made him wrench his eyes away from the window.

Gavin was smiling at him, green light reflecting off his eyes. “Yeah?” he asked quietly.

Michael couldn’t help smiling back, casting another quick look at the outside before turning to follow Geoff once more, Gavin walking at his side.

“Yeah.”

           

. . .

 

A drink – or several – later, the three were chatting together, Geoff not seeming the slightest bit put off by Michael’s lack of knowledge of Space. In fact, he’d spent a good fifteen minutes chuckling as they compared what Michael had seen in films with the reality of what Geoff had experienced, and it seemed he’d experienced a lot. From working as a photographer on warring planets, to acting as a simulator in a virtual armoury, to a long stint as a Chef before he started transporting cargo as easy freelance work.

Gavin had previously lived with Geoff and his family on and off as he travelled, which explained how close they were. It was clear Gavin thought of Geoff as family, and Geoff seemed so open that Michael suspected he’d be willing to almost adopt anyone he got along with. They’d obviously lost touch a bit recently though.

“How’s Millie doing?” Gavin asked, leaning happily on the bench.

Geoff gave a small chuckle. “She’s the most wonderful little free-spirit, reminds me of another young thing I met once. I wouldn’t be surprised if she up and started wandering off-planet in a few years. She still asks about you.” He took a swig. “Thinking of dropping by for a visit? Or you got some plans in that airhead of yours?” His eyes flicked once to Michael.

Gavin seemed to ignore this, and just grinned.

“We will, but first I was going to take Michael to see the-”

He broke off as an obnoxious squawking suddenly started, coming from within his bag. He dug into it, and retrieved a small notepad that was glowing and shaking. It grew silent as he flipped it open, scanning it quickly, and then he looked up with a grin.

“First, we’re going to buy a ship.”

 


	3. The Call - part seven of the unknown

 

It is widely recognised that all probabilities in the Universe are governed by phone numbers.

This, it is sometimes speculated, is why so many people have trouble bringing themselves to do something so simple as pick up a phone – whether it be to answer it or to dial a number themselves.

For instance, you might be bringing yourself to dial the phone number that was hastily scribbled on your palm in permanent marker at a party last night, and find that the probability of being interrupted by no small number of chores is high enough that if you felt the need to go through the trouble of allowing for variants and willpower to work out the numbers, the probability would be identical to the digits on your palm.

Most people find it easier to simply partake in another hot caffeinated beverage and convince themselves that they didn’t really want to call in the first place.

“Should you talk to anyone?” Gavin asked abruptly.

Tired, hungry, and covered in dust and antimatter twigs, Michael looked up from his seat incredulously. He had a pair of small gold tweezers in his hand and was trying to pull out numerous prickles from his arms.

“What?” he grit out.

“You know, on Earth. Should you, I dunno,” Gavin waved a hand abstractly. “Let them know you’re not dead?”

Michael snorted, and focused on a prickle sticking out near his elbow. “I don’t think they’ll assume I’m dead, Gavin.” He was about to pull it out when Gavin spoke up again, insisting.

“Surely someone would miss you.”

“I doubt it. I’ve been unreachable for longer than this and nobody’s noticed.”

“But-”

“ _Gavin_.”

There was a pause, and then the sound of retreating footsteps. Michael sighed, a tiny twinge of guilt in his chest over his harsh tone, but he didn’t look up, finally managing to pull out the prickle. He ran a hand over his arm, but there didn’t seem to be any more. There was a dull ache in his non-dominant hand, and a red spot, but he couldn’t see anything in it, so he set the tweezers aside.

He rolled his neck, wondering for a moment whether he should shower first before finding something to eat, but remembering the argument he’d had with the shower last time, he decided against it. If he at least had some food in his stomach he wouldn’t feel so annoyed trying to convince the shower that yes, he did actually want just plain water and not the weird anti-bacterial jelly that he’d been pelted with the first time.

Shucking off his shoes, he stood, and was about to head for the kitchen when the phone rang.

Michael stopped in his tracks, looking carefully towards the terminal on the wall.

_Ring ring-a-ring._

They’d never had a call to the ship before. Usually Gavin got little messages on his electronic notebook, and Michael had realised that checking his mobile was useless as it had been permanently out of range since he’d left Earth.

_Ring ring-a-ring._

Gavin obviously wasn’t answering it, and Michael was sure that if he ignored it the sound was going to send him crazy. He’d never easily been able to ignore a ringing phone.

 _Ring ring-a-ring_.

Mind made up, hesitating only briefly to determine which button to push, he answered the phone.

There was silence from the other end.

He cleared his throat. “Hello?”

Nothing.

Then a small cough.

“ _Hi_.”

“…Uh, do you have the right number?”

“ _Oh. Yeah, yeah, definitely… right._ ”

Michael frowned. The voice was hesitant and seemed a bit distracted, but it sounded incredibly familiar.

“ _Michael?_ ”

He sucked in a breath. “How do you know my name?” The question came out a bit harsher than he intended.

There was a small chuckle, and that sense of familiarity hit him again.

“ _Because it’s you I’m calling._ ”

“Me?”

“ _Yeah._ ” The voice suddenly grew a serious. “ _I’ve got to tell you something, and for once in your life you’ve got to promise that you’ll listen._ ”

“What do you-”

“ _Listen! I know you’re not quite sure what to do at the moment, and it’s only gonna get harder, believe me, but you’ve got to stick with hi- it. You’ve got to stick with it. No matter what happens, you can’t… You can’t leave._ ”

Michael gaped, staring at the small microphone and speaker set into the terminal.

“ _And Jones?_ ”

He swallowed hard, his answer barely more than a whisper. “Yeah?”

“ _Don’t do anything stupid._ ”

The call cut off.

It took a minute for Michael to shake himself and step away from the terminal, making for the kitchen, thoughts a muted buzzing mess.

“Michael?”

He tried not to jump, but he couldn’t help whipping his head around sharply. Gavin was sitting on a chair at the kitchen table, tucked into the corner with his forearms crossed on the table in front of him. He’d changed into cleaner clothes, and his hair was damp, falling over his forehead.

“Was that the phone?” He asked, brow furrowed.

Michael nodded and turned to the cupboards. He chose one of the warmer coloured ones, and soon came away with a plate full of steaming hot pasta. He looked over his shoulder, nodded his head at the cupboards, and Gavin just shrugged, still watching him. Taking this as an ‘I don’t care’ gesture, he grabbed a second plate of pasta before bringing them over to the table and sitting down opposite Gavin.

“Who was it?” Gavin picked up his fork, but just twirled it around between his fingers.

He shrugged. “Dunno. They knew my name, though.”

Gavin frowned, and surprisingly didn’t press the matter.

They ate in silence. When Michael moved to take their plates over to the automatic sink, Gavin grabbed them back out of his hands.

“Gavin, what-?”

Gavin was staring at Michael’s hands, biting at his bottom lip, and in a second was sidestepping around him to dump the plates in the sink before turning back to Michael, carefully wrapping his fingers around his wrist.

He turned Michael’s hand, and brushed his fingers over the small red spot on the back of it, pulling away at Michael’s badly suppressed wince.

“Stinging dust…” he murmured, not looking up. “Sit down.”

Before Michael could protest, he was rummaging in one of the cupboards, the white one that indicated all the coldest supplies, and returning with a small glass of ice cubes. He raised his eyebrows, and Michael sat down with a sigh, Gavin taking the seat next to him.

The ice burnt his skin at the first touch and he almost jerked back, but a moment later the dull ache in his hand receded, and the burn stopped. With a grateful sigh he relaxed back in his chair, and half closed his eyes, watching as Gavin carefully leaned over him, one hand holding his and the other rubbing the ice cube in circles over the red spot.

His gaze drifted gradually up to Gavin’s face, watching his furrowed eyebrows and his focused eyes, narrowed slightly in concentration. His slowly drying hair was starting to puff up again, ignoring gravity to instead reach for the sky. The strands that still clung to his forehead and cheeks were darker that the rest of his hair, and contrasted with the light scruff on his face. He was still biting absently at his bottom lip, worrying at it, and Michael thought absently that if he didn’t let up he’d soon break the skin.

“Do you want to go back?”

Gavin’s voice startled him out of his thoughts, and he realised that the ice had almost completely melted on his hand. Gavin still hadn’t looked up.

Michael carefully pulled his hand out of Gavin’s, and wiped the excess water on his trousers. The red spot had vanished.

Gavin was still chewing on his lip.

“Not really.” Michael said. “I mean, I probably should; all my food’s probably expired by now, and the rent was due yesterday – tomorrow? I can’t remember – and I haven’t showed up at work in two weeks but… but I don’t care.”

As he spoke, there was a curious mix of relief and anxiety dawning on Gavin’s face, and he’d finally looked up to meet Michael’s eyes. He suddenly looked incredibly young.

“Really?”

A small voice echoed in his mind.

_Stick with it._

“Really, Gavin.” He said, smiling.

A grin broke out across Gavin’s face, and he leant forward, his arms slipping under Michael’s to wrap around his torso, and Michael automatically returned the hug, wrapping his own arms around Gavin.

He smelt like something citrusy, and Michael couldn’t stop himself from murmuring into his hair. “M’not going anywhere.”

Gavin just squeezed him lightly, and hummed, nuzzling into his shoulder. Michael stifled a laugh when he felt him wrinkle his nose against his shoulder.

“Maybe I should take a shower now.”

Gavin chuckled. “Maybe you should.” But he let the hug linger for a second longer before pulling away, a small smile on his face as he pushed Michael gently towards the bathroom.

\- - -

In a time relatively far away, and yet not so far at all, a handset was replaced.

In a place relatively far away, and yet not nearly far enough, a set of coordinates were locked onto, and an engine hummed and whined as it was pushed to its limits.

The probability of both of these occurrences were unfortunately the exact same number as the call to Michael Jones.

 


	4. The Royal - part five of the unknown

 

“You’re the worst.”

“What? Why?”

Michael grit his teeth, gaze firmly fixed on one of the inverse violet mountains across the road. “Because while you were busy chasing after spinning fucking bunnies-”

“They were Toonaris, Michael, and it was vitally important to talk to them.”

“ _Talk_ to them? You kept trying to run in a circle around them-”

“ _Communicating-_ ”

“-the point of that goddamn yellow fish you shoved in my ear-”

“-not the same, and it’s called a Babel fish, and-”

“-and you left the fucking _handbrake off_!”

Three seconds later, Gavin was abruptly cut-off mid laugh due to Michael’s arm around his neck.

Not long after leaving the Milliways, Gavin’s electronic notepad had bleeped an incoming assignment. A small planet off the Ronewin Star Stream, home to various unassuming and peaceful natives, was being predicted as the next biggest tourist attraction in the Galaxy due to reports of an inter-dimensional golf course in the making. It was fairly straightforward journalism; a bit of baseline history to add to the Guide and a chance for the natives to have their opinions broadcast far and wide (getting a Guide journalist was remarkably good for attracting various news crew’s attentions).

It had been looking like a straightforward trip, even counting Gavin’s knack for being distracted by anything shiny or moving, up until Michael had turned back to their ship in time to see it float past and into a dust cloud above the planet’s atmosphere.

Gavin’s face might have been comical - surprise and confusion and the slow realisation as he murmured that he had just _known_ he’d forgotten something, that he’d always had trouble remembering the necessity of a handbrake on lower gravity planets - but Michael had been more than a little furious and too busy trying to refrain from kicking him to laugh.

Now with the ship long gone and with no way to call it back, they were simply waiting. For lack of anything better to do they walked, gaze skywards, searching for any passing ships or orbiting stations. The flattish nature of the surface of the planet meant that when they squinted to the horizon, the shadow of the oncoming night was visible, getting nearer by the minute. Michael had chosen not to ask what night would bring, and Gavin was either oblivious or ignoring it.

So they walked and waited.

It wasn’t until the night shadow was almost upon them that Gavin finally stopped walking, abruptly enough that Michael almost ran into him with a curse.

“Don’t just stop like that, idiot.”

Gavin looked over his shoulder, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth and staring past him before catching Michael’s eye.

“Have you still got that copy of the guide I gave you?” he asked slowly.

Michael nodded. Gavin turned to face forward with a nod.

“Don’t open it for a bit.”

“What, why?”

Gavin appeared to ignore him, turning on his heel and quickly walking in a circle around Michael, scuffing his feet into the purple dirt so he left a mark. Once he was standing back where he started he began fiddling with his electronic thumb, glancing up at the sky and then at the approaching night with a small frown.

“Are you getting a signal? A ship?”

Gavin looked over, gave a non-committal half nod of his head, and promptly sat down cross-legged on the ground.

Michael huffed. Gavin had done this once before, falling into unresponsiveness with little to no warning in the middle of telling Michael about his favourite bar planets. He’d stared into the middle distance, occasionally looking around but seeming to not take into account where he was, and when he’d eventually snapped out of it he’d completely ignored Michael’s queries about the episode and instead launched them off to Milliways.

Goddamn alien.

A raindrop fell on Michael’s head and startled him back to himself, automatically looking up at the sky, and felt his jaw drop.

Without a sound, without a shadow, without any indication at all, the sky had been covered by what looked like an infinite stretch of bathroom tiles.

Gavin jumped to his feet with a shout and in a second had wrapped his arm around Michael’s waist, thumb to the sky.

Sub-Etha electronic wave teleportation was something Michael would never quite get the hang of.

 

. . .

 

The chances of meeting someone you know, in the endless infinity of possible space-time that the Universe has to offer, are remarkably large.

Due to the constantly fluctuating nature of the Universe, however, the chances of accurately calculating the probability of meeting someone you know are indescribably small, and so most people tend not to bother with it and simply settle for speaking the phrase “what a coincidence”.

“Ryan!” Gavin squeaked as he picked himself off the floor of the spaceship. “What a coincidence!”

With a neat little headache building behind his temples, Michael chose to remain sitting where he’d materialised. He looked up at the man that stood before them, and that Gavin was currently intent on hug-climbing.

Tall and muscled, dressed in shiny black trousers and a navy blue shirt, with carefully swept back blonde hair and a piercing glint in electric blue eyes, he was an intimidating character.

He grinned when Gavin jumped at him, though, patting his back with a low chuckle but not attempting to return the embrace. After a second, Gavin let his feet fall to the ground and took a half-step back.

“Good to see you, Gavin.” Ryan spoke with the warm air of authority one was like to encounter in an extremely successful businessman. His cool eyes shifted down and met Michael’s with a quirked eyebrow. “Who’s this?”

Gavin started, following Ryan’s gaze and looking surprised to see Michael still on the floor beside him.

“Ah, right, this,” he bent down and grasped Michael’s forearm, pulling him upright. “Is my- is Michael.”

Ryan nodded. “Hmm.” He held out a hand, not breaking eye-contact. Michael wasn’t sure if he’d blinked yet. “Captain Ryan Haywood, thirty-third King of Aldebaran, at your rescue.”

Michael blinked. He reached out to shake Ryan’s hand.

“Uh, Michael Jones, nice to meet y- your Majesty?”

Gavin snorted beside him and Michael threw him a quick glare. Ryan just smiled at him.

“So how did you end up stranded this time, Gavin?” he asked mildly, gesturing for them to follow as he started off down a hallway.

“Oh, well we-”

“He left the fucking handbrake off.”

Ryan’s laughter echoed down the passage, bouncing back to them eerily. He turned at a corner and they found themselves in a fairly large room lined with glass along one wall that allowed a glimpse of Space outside. There were also panels of glass set into the floor at intervals, creating a geometric pattern amidst the dark blue speckled flooring. Michael peered down through one of them as they walked, but whatever was below was dimly lit.

The Captain ushered them to take a seat at a lit glass table, and offered them a drink and something to eat. Gavin nodded enthusiastically, and in seconds a couple of crewmembers in blue had appeared with trays and glasses.

In a short conversation, between Gavin stuffing his face with food, he and the Captain had quickly recounted the last time they’d seen each other – in a Laboratory Vessel not far off Aldebaran, working on experiments that Ryan hinted at vaguely and Gavin seemed unable to properly describe – and Gavin had explained sheepishly how exactly they’d become stranded.

Ryan looked interested. “So you finally got your hands on a ship, then?”

“Yup! Bought it and everything.”

“Hmm. Quite a first, then, if I correctly recall your, ah, previous rides.”

Gavin turned vaguely pink and coughed into his glass.

Michael had sat quietly through most of the conversation. It was strange to feel so ill at ease, especially considering how easily accommodating Ryan had been, and how familiar he seemed to Gavin. There was just something about the way the Captain (The King?) held eye contact so strongly, how he didn’t need to blink, and he seemed unsurprised by anything said to him. He shook himself out of his thoughts, and refocused on what Ryan was saying.

“-can try scanning for your ship, if it hasn’t gone too far. I’ve been improving on our equipment.”

“Oh brilliant! I’d ask you to explain it but I don’t think I’ll be able to follow you for long, heh. Can we go try now?”

Ryan nodded, and another member of his crew appeared at his side. “Edgar can take you down.”

Gavin instantly jumped up, but when Michael made to follow, the Captain shook his head.

“You may as well wait here, Michael, Gavin will be perfectly capable of working with my technicians. Stay.” His voice was still mild, but it was clear he wasn’t asking.

Michael opened his mouth, but Gavin just patted him on the shoulder, and was already following the crewman out of the room, calling back. “I’ll come get you when we find the ship.”

And then Gavin was gone and Michael was left alone with Ryan.

For the first time since he’d left Earth, he was properly unsure. He avoided looking directly at Ryan, instead casting his gaze around the room. It was bugging him, the un-surety; he was usually able to be comfortable anywhere, no matter the company, or at least be able to hold a conversation. The silence was getting to him. His gaze drifted across the floor, picking up the reflections on the glass panels. His breath hitched and he narrowed his eyes.  For a second he thought he saw something in the dimness beneath the glass.

“You’re a long way from home.”

Michael quickly looked to Ryan. “…Yeah.” He agreed slowly.

A smirk. “And home would be?”

“Uh, New Jersey. Earth.”

“A _very_ long way.” Ryan tilted his head. “And in the oddest company, as well.”

Michael let out a small snort. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Ryan chuckled again.

“I wonder,” he started slowly, leaning forward and leaning on crossed arms on the table. “If you really know what you’re doing out here.”

And if that wasn’t the most cryptic and intimidating thing he’d ever heard, it was doubled by the look that accompanied it.

A small shiver ran down his spine before he could stop it, but he straightened his shoulders and recalled some of his bravado. “I know what I’m doing, thanks.”

“Do you?”

Ryan’s unblinking stare was starting to get to him, and he felt as if he was simultaneously in a staring contest (and promptly losing) and being x-rayed.

Just as he went to turn away, Ryan spoke, his calm and quiet voice nothing more than a murmur that would be lost to anyone more than a metre away.

“You should give it up.”

Michael looked back blankly. “What?”

Electric blue eyes fixed on his. “Betelgeuse-ians.” He said simply. “They’re not known for their commitment. At least,” he chuckled softly. “Not long term. Not unless there’s something in it for them.”

Michael gaped, a retort on his tongue that he couldn’t quite form, trying to make sense of Ryan’s vague words. Something was niggling at him, in the very back of his mind, something he knew he shouldn’t address, but that was eating away at the boundaries, calling, demanding to be heard-

“Michael!”

He jumped to his feet, turned to see Gavin leaning out of a corridor, waving for him to follow, and a large hand clapped on his shoulder.

“He’s a journalist.” Ryan said.

Then with a smile, he gave Michael a little push, and turned back to the bridge. Michael’s feet carried him forward until he was close enough for Gavin to grab his arm and pull him along the winding corridors, chattering about some signal on a radar, a yellow flower of unknown origin, and a set of coordinates that would take them back.

“Ryan’s crew is going to lend us a pod so we can leave, and when we find our ship we just send it back to him, no worries! Isn’t that great, Michael? …Michael?”

He shook his head, firmly sending his thoughts to the back of his head, and focused on Gavin’s face, wide smile and excitement.

“Yeah.” He said. “Yeah, it’s great.”

 

…

 

Ryan saw them off, setting them up in a small white pod and giving Michael a basic rundown of the controls. Gavin thanked him profusely, and gave him a small coloured cube that made Ryan smile wryly. In return, he handed Gavin a leathery knapsack.

After they punched in the coordinates, there was very little to do, bar some basic course correction. Gavin turned in his seat, flipping around till his feet were hanging off the side, and filled the space with a monologue of musings as he made notes in his little book. Michael half-listened, turning the wheel every so often to keep them on course, and focused on the stars around them.

By the time they were coming up on their ship, Gavin was asleep, curled up in his seat. His arms were covered in little squiggles and doodles that curled around his wrists.

His mind recalled Ryan’s last words to him before he’d boarded the pod after Gavin. He’d shaken his hand once more, in a low voice said, “You’re a good kid, Michael Jones. Be careful.” and promptly walked off.

Michael shook him awake, ignoring his mumblings, and half-carried him as far as the couch on the deck of their ship. He also retrieved the knapsack that Ryan had given them, and opened it curiously. Inside there was a large unlabelled onion-shaped bottle filled with gold liquid. Resisting the urge to pour it over Gavin’s face as he sat down on the couch beside him, Michael quietly told the computer to send Ryan’s pod back to his ship.

“What is this, by the way?” He held up the bottle to the light, watching it slosh thickly around.

“That, mi amigo, is Narke’s Shining Dawn. The drink of choice for most frequent flyers to the Roan Systems. Hell of a punch to the gut and guaranteed to diminish brain cells.” The computer supplied cheerfully.

Michael huffed out a small laugh. He barely hesitated before flipping the lid.

“Well, here’s hoping you’re right about that.” And with that, he took a swig, flipped the lid back and set the bottle down before swallowing.

He was minutely aware of the computer speaking, and the words “Of course I’m right, I’m programmed to be right” floated past him, but he was preoccupied with the way his limbs suddenly felt like they were floating away from him, and the line of rhinos that were tangoing across his brain, that then dissolved into blurred colours and shapes.

His head hit the couch, encased in softness, and his eyes were open but his vision shrouded in black, his centre of gravity somewhere in his right elbow, and someone appeared to have hijacked his voice and was giggling manically.

“You’re a pair of idiots.” Was the last thing he heard before his eyes closed, and a hand found his as he blacked out.

 


	5. The Ship - part three of the unknown

 

“Yellow, purple, yellow, yellow, green, alizarin, then three blues.”

“What was after green?”

“Alizarin.”

“The fuck is alizarin?”

Gavin’s face appeared from under the console, frowning up past his obnoxious sunglasses. “It’s the crimson one, the one that looks like a bell.”

“Why didn’t you just say red-”

“Because it’s not red, Michael, there’s a difference-”

“There’s nothing else red to compare it to!” Michael shouted, gesturing angrily at the console. “What the fuck does it matter what shade of red it is if it’s still fucking red?!”

They’d had the ship for barely two hours. One of these had been spent getting it out of the spaceport they’d bought it at, and the second had been taken up by their joint effort to try and figure out exactly how to fly it. And judging by their process, it was likely to take another two or more hours before they made any more progress.

He wasn’t sure why he expected any different, but Michael had hoped Gavin might have had the slightest clue how to fly a spaceship.

“Have you pressed the three blues yet?”

“Fucking-” Michael ran a hand over his face exasperatedly. “Yes.”

“The ones that look like little spikes?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Okay,” Gavin rolled himself out from under the console, knocking into Michael’s legs before he righted himself and sprang to his feet. “Almost done, then.”

Michael sighed. They’d been ‘almost done’ for the past half hour by his reckoning.

“Just got to set up the audio interface so we don’t drift off while we’re sleeping.”

“Yippee.” Michael muttered.

Gavin rolled his eyes and hit a switch, bringing up a keyboard with more symbols than seemed necessary. He turned a page of the manual that sat on a chair beside him, eyes scanning the words, and started tapping away. A line of script flew across the screen in front of him, writing over itself in diagonals and verticals before switching back to basic horizontal type. With a final flourishing tap, the console _ping_ ed and Gavin turned to wink once at Michael before clearing his throat and addressing the ceiling.

“Alright, hello!” he called cheerfully. “Computer?”

There was a small whirr followed by what sounded like someone clearing their throat. A beat, and then:

“Sup bitches?” came the reply, a slightly metallic twang to the cheery voice. “What can I do for y’all?”

Gavin squealed, grinning broadly as he spun around in place.

“Computer!” he almost sang the word. “Plot a course for… the Theta-Roan System and pour us a bev!”

“Sure thing, boss.”

With more fanfare than Michael suspected was necessary, a couple of tall thin glasses appeared on a flat part of the console, and then filled themselves with something clear and fizzy that closely resembled tonic water.

After taking a sip, Michael deduced that it was in fact tonic water. Gavin humorously pulled a face after gulping some himself, and squinted at his glass before gazing around.

“Computer?”

“Yes’m?”

“When I said a bev…” he looked over at Michael, who was calmly sipping at his own glass. “I meant something more-” He waved his hand vaguely.

“You want something that’ll turn your brain to mush, stop your inhibitions, and make you lose control of your motor functions?”

“Yes!” Gavin grinned.

The computer whirred once in a manner reminiscent of a scoff. “Well, it’s your life.”

Another pair of glasses appeared, this time filled with liquid in a sickly looking fluorescent green.

The bridge rocked and tilted alarmingly, throwing Michael off his feet. He heard a yelp, the smash of glass, and his own voice cursing as he felt himself knock into something solid. He scrabbled to grab hold of whatever it was, but the ship abruptly tilted the other direction, and he found himself flung against the far wall – into something remarkably soft that let out a soft “oof”.

Gavin’s arms wrapped up around his chest and clutched at the fabric of his Tshirt. “Computer!” he yelled.

“Yeah?”

The ship was still rocking, they were still pressed against the far wall with the bridge stretching out above them almost vertically, but it didn’t seem likely to tilt again.

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed but we’re kinda _sideways!_ ”

“Oh. Yeah, I noticed.”

“Well _do_ something about it!”

The ship shuddered, and Gavin’s fingers tightened in Michael’s shirt, digging into his ribs.

“Gavin – _ow_ – stop it-”

“Sorry! I just-”

“That’s not better- move your-”

“Michael, stop wriggling, let me just-”

“ _Gavin!_ Fucking- hands off-”

“Alllmost fixed.” Announced the computer cheerfully.

Michael aimed an elbow at Gavin’s ribs, but instead of letting go, Gavin’s fingers squeezed reflexively into his sides, his legs twitched on either side of Michael’s – and at that moment, the ship righted itself, sending Michael flying forwards onto his front and unfortunately, Gavin on top of him.

He heard Gavin gurgle and hurriedly pushed him off to the side, familiar enough by now with his temperamental gag reflex. Gavin just rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He looked unlikely to move, so Michael struggled to his feet, avoiding stepping in the split glass and drinks.

“Computer.” He said, eyeing the console.

“Hello.”

“What the fuck was that?”

The computer let out a chuckle.

“You morons forgot to set up the gravity stabilisers.”

 

…

 

After another two hours spent with Gavin attempting to find the gravity section in the manual and Michael inevitably fixing it through common knowledge – and with help whispered by the computer, who seemed to have taken a liking to antagonising Gavin – he finally found a spare room with an inviting looking bed. Apart from the floating mattress, it was the most comfortable thing he’d ever lain on, and after kicking off his trainers, felt himself drift off to sleep instantly.

He awoke briefly at some point in the night (he mused briefly about how redundant that thought was, as it didn’t seem Space had any clear definitions of night or day) to a shuffling outside in the corridor, but he couldn’t bring himself to bother opening his eyes.

There was the lightest touch on his hand.

“Michael?”

He grunted, fingers twitching, sleep swirling around his mind.

“I can’t…” Gavin hesitated. “I can’t sleep.”

“Mmm?”

There was no reply, and Michael reluctantly opened his eyes. It was pointless though, as the room was still almost completely dark. He could just make out the darker shadow of Gavin leaning over the side of the bed.

“Gavin-”

“Can I sleep here?” he said it in a rush, almost too quietly to hear.

Michael closed his eyes again with a sigh, and went to rub his face with his palm before he noticed that Gavin’s fingers were still hovering on his skin.

“Michael?”

“Fine.” He mumbled. He shifted over in the bed, and heard rather than felt Gavin climbing onto the mattress.

Michael was drifting off again when Gavin’s fingers alighted on his arm under the covers.

“Thank you.”

“Just go the fuck to sleep.” He wasn’t sure how much of what he said was legible, but Gavin’s fingers tightened briefly on his arm, and he heard him let out a slow breath before he fell back to sleep.

 

…

 

In the morning he’s barely woken up when Gavin’s voice echoed around the ship over the intercom, telling him to get a move on, that they were going to eat, and then his quiet mutterings as he bickered with the computer.

There was a mug of coffee floating a few inches above the bed.

 


	6. The Sigh - part six of the unknown

 

Hangovers in Space was something Michael expected he would have to get used to. It seemed like Gavin needed the smallest excuse to celebrate, and delighted in introducing Michael to all the different drinks that the Universe had to offer, most of which didn’t show their effects until after he’d had enough to rob him of any sensibilities.

After he’d woken up on the couch with Gavin trying to get him to drink some more of the golden beverage that Ryan had given them, his own mouth sparkling and giggling more than normal, Gavin decided that they were taking a trip along the greatest collection of bar planets. There’d been no arguing with him, and honestly, Michael felt that he deserved it for putting up with Gavin over the past week.

The ship’s computer worked out a schedule with Gavin, inputting a recall into his electronic thumb so that they could be pulled back to the ship once they were done for a night.

That first night became a blur after the first drink – something buttery and sweet that made his tongue turn purple – and at one stage he found himself sat on the floor next to a floating hyper intelligent shade of blue and watching Gavin stumble through the dance floor. The Hooloovoo (he never managed to pronounce it properly, his tongue wouldn’t obey his brain) had helped him get Gavin to sit still so they could call to the ship through the electronic thumb, and the next morning Michael had the strange feeling that the little blue series of dots on the palm of his hand were a contact number.

More often than not he’d lose track of Gavin throughout the night, simply drinking what was in his hand and probably talking complete nonsense to anyone around him, and yet he’d always wake the next day sprawled out on the couch on the bridge, or in his own bed, with Gavin curled up and passed out beside him.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve killed off at least ninety percent of my brain cells.”

Gavin chuckled. “Nah, that’s the good thing about most of these bevs, they just hack into the hallucination centres of your brain, make you think you’ve gone all whoozy.”

“That’s… not very reassuring.”

“Wasn’t really meant to be.”

“Wow, thanks asshole.”

And yet, when Gavin pressed another glowing glass into his hand and pulled him out onto the dance floor, Michael still drank it, Gavin’s laughter contagious and his hand warm around his own.

It stopped one night when he had turned to spot Gavin, for once, not drinking and dancing, but hunched over a table. Michael made his way over, stumbling slightly as the world tilted, but slowed when he realised that Gavin was talking into his palm.

His notebook was open in front of him, and he scrolled through it in twitchy movements, his free hand waving in the air as he talked. He was frowning, his shoulders hunched; when he glanced up briefly and spotted Michael, only a few feet away from the table, he hurriedly wrapped up his call. He slipped his notebook back inside his jacket and downed his drink, forcing a smile on his face though a crease remained between his eyebrows.

“Time to call it a night?” he said airily.

Michael just nodded, and automatically reached for Gavin’s arm to hold as he activated the electronic thumb. Gavin grasped his hand instead, linking their fingers just before the suck of the Sub-Etha sent them to the bridge of the ship.

They stood there for a long moment, and Gavin didn’t release his hand.

“You okay, man?” Michael asked quietly.

Gavin barely hesitated before he nodded. Michael gently extricated his fingers from Gavin’s with a small smile. This was one of the few times they’d come back not on the verge of passing out, and he intended to take advantage of the fact by showering and actually changing his clothes. Maybe brushing his teeth several times as well. And drinking some water.

“Michael?”

Gavin’s voice stopped him, and he turned back, curious at the pinched look on Gavin’s face.

“What’s up?” he prompted when Gavin speak.

The words were so quiet he almost missed them, devoid of inflection. “Don’t you miss home?”

Michael started, and laughed lightly. “Not really.” He said honestly, shaking his head.

Gavin still wore that concerned look, and Michael had been about to ask him if he was okay again, when he suddenly split into a grin. The drunk and ridiculously happy Gavin had returned, and had declared that he was going to the kitchen to cook up some burgers, and would make some more drinks to go with it. He didn’t seem put out in the slightest when Michael told him he was probably just going to go to bed, simply waved and idly told the computer to make sure the music didn’t reach Michael’s room.

“Sleep well, my lovely little boy!” Gavin had called after him, and Michael had waved back, hiding a laugh.

 

He’d still woken up with Gavin curled up half dressed on the bed beside him, colourful dye on his fingers and a couple of empty glasses on the bedside table.

Michael hadn’t shoved Gavin to wake him up, hadn’t left him to sleep peacefully while he went to get breakfast, hadn’t gone back to sleep himself. That morning he just lay there, and carefully ignored the urge to trace his fingertips over Gavin’s face.

 

…

 

That had been the end of their binge, hitting bars night after night, though they still drank some of the bevs that Gavin cooked up for them with dinner.

More often than not, Gavin would get a call through his palm, and frown as he mumbled to it, standing away in a corner or sometimes leaving the room as he spoke. When Michael asked, he waved it off as work, and Michael stopped asking.

And through some unspoken decision, Gavin continued to sleep in Michael’s bed.

He didn’t mind.

 


	7. The Quiet - part eight of the unknown

 

The computer wasn’t responding to him.

Not normally, at least. Michael didn’t notice at first, as he asked for the not-quite-coffee maker to be turned on and went about fixing himself breakfast. He was halfway through the bowl of cereal (it tasted like cereal at least; the small shapes covered with syrup more closely resembled shrivelled up finger tips. He’d learnt it was best to not look at his food anymore) when he realised he hadn’t actually heard the computer speak.

Michael swallowed and frowned, staring into the middle distance. “Computer?” he called out.

There was no reply.

His frown deepened. “Computer, play some music.”

He waited, and when after a moment the sound of distinctly classical music filled the room, he pushed back his chair and stood up.

The short walk to the bridge was silent, and though the corridors were dark, Michael couldn’t bring himself to ask the computer to turn on the lights. Not when there was something so clearly _wrong_.

The large window that ran the length of the console was blacked out as well, and most of the lights and scanners were shut off. He crossed to the interface section, reached out a hand to flip the switch on again, then hesitated. It could have been on purpose, one of Gavin’s little “experiments”, and if it was it’d be best not to touch the controls. But Michael still didn’t completely trust Gavin’s judgement when it came to the ship. Sure, he seemed to have picked up quite a bit of knowledge about certain bits of technology, mainly the speed dials that manipulated them across space in almost no time at all without jumping to hyperspace, but he was still an idiot when it came to basic safety and functions that he liked to call “boringly obvious”.

If it was Gavin mucking about again, the most that would happen was that he’d be a bit grumpy, and then for no longer than a few minutes, and that was something Michael could handle easily.

With that thought, he flipped the interface back to life.

“-ook after you idiots in the middle of… oh. Hey.” The computer greeted him, and Michael returned it, noting that he sounded a little bit peeved.

“Well you’d be a bit snarky too if you got switched off without warning. I mean, he could just _ask_ me to go to sleep for a bit if he wanted some privacy, no need to completely take my control away. Whole sentient AI rights and shit all over again.”

“Gavin shut you off?”

“Yeah. Asshole. Gonna put wet bread on his stupid sleeping-” The computer went abruptly quiet.

“Huh.”

“What?” Michael asked.

The computer whirled once, and the whole ship flared with light briefly before it settled into a steady normal brightness.

“He’s not here.”

“What d’you mean? Like he’s not in bed or-”

“I mean he’s not on the ship.”

Michael glanced at the blacked out bridge window, brow furrowing. The glass quickly faded to clear, but there was nothing but space and distant stars.

“We’re not in orbit.” Murmured the computer. “No pods have been taken.”

“Then how the fuck is he not on the ship? Did someone come to pick him up or-?”

“I was shut off, remember? And only the basic command system was running, no backup or details log. He even disabled the defence system. Lucky no pirates decided to come calling or we’d be as stripped as a Proxima Centuri prostitute. No use checking, dude, he’s not there.”

The computer’s voice followed him as Michael strode down the corridors to Gavin’s room. The doors opened automatically, and Michael paused for a moment, taking in the sparse area, the small desk that sat against the wall, the floating single mattress, unslept in. There was a built in cupboard, and he checked inside. Gavin’s satchel was hanging up inside, along with a few spare polo shirts, and there was a scarf and old jacket scrunched into a corner on the floor of the cupboard.

Feeling guilty for a brief moment, Michael emptied the satchel on the bed. Apart from the small green towel that Gavin always had to remove in order to find anything in his bag, there were several coordinate cubes, a permanent marker, a small torch with what looked like a camera lens on the opposite end, a small packet of lube (Earth brand), and an unopened rice crispie treat (also from Earth).

His electronic thumb and notebook were missing.

“So that’s how he left.” Michael heard himself say vaguely.

“I’m still wondering where he went to. There are literally no inhabitable planets around for light-years, and this isn’t a common space route. Not like it would be easy to find a passing ship to hitch a ride on.”

It would have had to be planned, maybe some journalist interview that he didn’t want to drag Michael along to? He’d already made it clear to Gavin multiple times that he’d prefer to visit the planets, not tag along to talk to old odd aliens about their retirements.

“Probably best that we don’t go looking as well. Gavin will probably need us to stay put, if he’s going to beam back via our coordinates.”

“So we’ve just got to wait around until whenever the hell he decides to come back?”

Michael was sure by the odd mechanical sound that the computer would have shrugged if it could. “Enjoy the freedom and quiet without the dumbass around?”

It would be relaxing, not dealing with Gavin’s eccentricities and his obsessive need to talk and talk and talk about inane things that more often than not annoyed Michael and resulted in the two of them good naturedly arguing. He could probably play a few immersion simulation games and actually try for the goals and achievements without worrying about Gavin ‘accidentally’ sniping him in the back. He wouldn’t be bugged at every turn, would be able to relax properly for the first time since he’d been in space.

Michael quietly berated himself for thinking that it didn’t sound as appealing as he thought it should.

 

…

 

It was just as he was thinking about eating dinner, stretching his neck after a simulation game, that the computer called out.

“There’re a bunch of ships coming up out of hyperspace beside us.”

Michael jumped, and quickly made his way to the bridge.

“Gavin?”

“I don’t know. I’m putting our shields up and the defence system on alert anyway.”

Through the bridge window, Michael could see the ships, maybe twenty of them, triangular and dark green. They were sitting in a clump a fair distance away, and Michael hurriedly zoomed in on the model names printed on the sides.

“Common Holdin crafts. Usually used by civilians.”

“Are they sending through any messages?”

“Not yet, but-”

The lights flickered on one of the screens and a klaxon went off. Michael clapped his hands over his ears, flinching at the sound.

“Computer!” he shouted, barely able to hear his own voice.

“Shields have been shut off!” The computer called above the din. “Overridden by a virus, by the looks of it. Been sitting in the system, invisible and protected, shit-”

The klaxon rose to a howl, and Michael’s ears started ringing as he kept his hands pressed against them; he felt rather than heard the ship shudder as a door opened. The computer was still rambling, trying to report everything happening while it reset the defence-

Everything went silent.

Michael raised his head, carefully removing his hands. The absolute silence felt muffling, and he briefly wondered if he’d just gone deaf.

His voice was strained but blessedly normal as he spoke. “Computer?”

A door to the bridge opened, and he turned. Gavin stepped through onto the bridge, and Michael let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

“Gavin, what the fuck, you gave me a freaking heart attack.” He said, exasperated, and took a step forward. He was undecided whether he wanted to punch him or hug him. “Where the hell were you?”

Gavin kept walking, slowly, his eyes flicked to the window and back again. He was chewing on his bottom lip viciously.

Michael took another step. “Gavin-”

He saw the second figure, saw the movement, saw the raised gun, and he saw Gavin scrunch his eyes closed at the exact moment when he saw the flash of white-blue light.

His knees buckled.

There was a dull sting in his chest, and he dropped his head to look at the sizzling hole right between his ribs, his T-shirt burnt away to reveal the cauterised flesh, barely the size of a coin.

When he took a breath the pain shot through him, excruciating, crushing, and he gasped, hands scrabbling as he fell sideways, and screamed.

And screamed, and screamed.

His chest was on fire, he couldn’t breathe, blood vessels burst in his eyes, and just before the world turned black Michael saw Gavin step towards him, slow, careful.

And then step over him.

 


	8. The Beginning - part one of the unknown

 

It had been a Thursday.

Michael wasn’t sure why he remembered that, but he did, and it was always the first thing he recalled when thinking back on the day he left the Earth.

He had slept straight through the morning and into mid afternoon, at which point he was fortunately reaching the end of his hangover, and so the trip from his bedroom to the bathroom only made his head spin a slight amount. His first thought was to relieve himself, and his second to get rid of the acid taste in his mouth, and halfway through brushing his teeth, he gave in and turned the knobs in the shower recess.

Stripped out of his holey jeans and wrinkled shirt, hot water washing over him and soaking into his pores and senses, Michael woke up properly. As did his stomach, and with the thought of breakfast in his mind, he quickly washed his hair and rinsed off, then pulled on the only relatively clean clothes he could find: his pyjamas.

That was how he’d first set eyes on Gavin Free; with a pair of dark blue plaid pyjama bottoms, a My Little Pony T-shirt, and a towel wrapped around his still dripping hair.

(One night, a million lightyears and a million adventures away, Michael Jones would realise that were it not for an unlocked balcony door, a conveniently placed length of cable, a few too many Irish car bombs to count the night before and a desire for French toast that morning, he would have never met Gavin, and never known a world outside of planet Earth.)

Halfway through frying a second piece of toast, the sound of a sliding door and footsteps followed by a _thump_ and a muffled curse caused him to turn.

The lanky form had disentangled itself from a stray speaker cord by that time, and begun sheepishly backing away, hands held up in a clear ‘don’t shoot me’ gesture.

“Sorry!” He had squeaked. “My fault, was looking for a-uh, a higher apartment. Didn’t realise this one was taken. I’ll be-”

Then he’d paused, sniffed, and his eyes had lit up in a way that made Michael feel curiously and inexplicably enamoured.

“Is that cinnamon?”

Thrown off guard, Michael had nodded, and indicated the freshly flipped piece of toast on the plate beside him with his spatula.

“French toast.” He’d supplied automatically.

With a sudden and almost too-wide grin, the unexpected visitor had skipped forward and picked up the plate in his spindly hands.

“Thanks!” he’d said, and promptly devoured the toast.

He’s never been quite sure how, but five minutes later the two of them were sitting at Michael’s dining table, tucking in to the stack of freshly made French toast with gusto, and Gavin – as he’d introduced himself over seconds – was chatting happily at Michael about the weather.

“See, it was the wind warning that first alerted me, and that Tsunami off the coast of the Solomon Islands was the clincher. It’s usually something in the water that is the best indicator, and I’ve been waiting for something before I took out my Sensor – no use wasting the battery, no means to recharge it here! – and last week was just what I was looking for. Course, then I had to try and pin point the most likely place they’d show up, because if I was even a few miles shy of the place I wouldn’t be able to get a lift, and I’d end up stuck here for another three years.”

It was amusing enough to listen to Gavin talk, and he seemed harmless enough, but Michael was not bothering to follow his train of conversation at all. Instead, he silently ate and tried to figure out where Gavin managed to put the unholy amount of food he’d inhaled.

“- on the last train, and here I am! Right city, right suburb, just had to get the height, and there aren’t many tall buildings around here – that posh place down the street wouldn’t let me in without ID, wankers – so I thought I’d give one of these apartment blocks a go. Never realised I’d get breakfast out of it, honestly, so I reckon I owe you pretty big. You wouldn’t believe how horrible it is to try and hitch a ride on an empty stomach, it messes with your head, like the worst hangover you’ve ever had, but multiplied by space-sickness and a shot of Old Janx Spirit on your cornflakes.”

The guy could certainly talk, Michael would give him that, and he glanced at the clock on the wall, considering the benefits of an early dinner and gaming before bed. He didn’t think he had any jobs tomorrow…

“- think it’s the least I can do, and Zarquon knows you look like you could use a bit of an adventure, bit of excitement, so what do you think? Michael?”

Michael looked back at Gavin, at his eager expression, and absently noted that he had a crumb of toast at the corner of his mouth. Had he asked a question? He appeared to be waiting for an answer.

“Oh. Sure.” He replied vaguely.

Gavin split into another one of those wide, wide smiles, so he’d obviously said the right thing, and then the next second Gavin was on his feet, palms on the table and leaning over to Michael, eyes gleaming.

“Do you mean it, Michael?” he asked excitedly. “Do you really want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Come with me, of course!”

He shook his head, trying to clear it and wildly grasping at some clue of what they were talking about.

“What are you talking about?”

Gavin gave him an exasperated huff, dug his hand into the pocket of his jeans, and pulled out a small rectangular black object with too many blinking lights to make sense of. He studied it intently for a second, and then as quick as he’d retrieved it, he shoved it back into his jeans, and stood up straight, cracking his back.

“We should get going.”

“Going..?”

 _Tch_.

“Did you just fucking tut at me?”

“Michael.” Gavin was looking at him, eyes piercing and unblinking, and Michael had the fleeting feeling of being hypnotised. “There is a ship that will be parked above your apartment in approximately three minutes that can take you literally anywhere in the Galaxy. In the Universe. I’m going to hitch a ride off this planet, and I’d like it if you came with me.”

For a moment, he couldn’t quite breathe. “T-three minutes.”

Gavin nodded.

“A ship. Like a spaceship.”

Nod.

“…why me?”

Gavin sighed. “Because I like you. And you made me French toast.” He added as an afterthought. “Now you’ve got two and a half minutes. Yes, or no?”

Michael just gaped, frowning up at this stranger with a proposition that would make more sense coming from a crazy man – and maybe Gavin was insane, there was no way to tell – and grasped onto the first thing that came to mind.

“But- I’m in my pyjamas-”

“Michael,” Gavin said again - and he thinks that he knew, right then, as soon as he’d said his name, he knew how this would end. “You’re not likely to get another chance like this in your whole life. Does it really matter?”

And as he runs out the door at Gavin’s side, in his hastily pulled on trainers and his towel still around his shoulders, with only a minute and a half to get to the roof, he thinks that No. It really doesn’t matter.

 


	9. The End - part nine of the unknown

 

Michael wasn’t sure how long he drifted, but eventually it was clear that he wasn’t dead yet, as his chest still burnt dully with every breath he took.

He opened his eyes and immediately closed them again against the harsh white light.

After a few more breathes – and fuck did it hurt to breathe – he tried again.

He was half propped up against a wall. The room was small and silver white like the rest of the ship, bar for the drops of red that led from the door to where he sat. He craned his head sideways, headache pounding away, and his eyes met green ones.

Gavin was sitting on a chair against the wall, his electronic notebook in his lap and a blank expression on his face. He held Michael’s gaze for a few seconds, and then went back to writing notes with his pinkie finger.

Michael’s chest burned and his limbs protested as he tried to sit up even more, gasping and panting as his face twisted up in a snarl, rage building in his head and the desire to _bury_ his fist into Gavin’s face, to break him, shake him, demand that-

“Probably best not to move.” Gavin said calmly, not looking up.

“ _Fuck_ you.” Michael spat, ignoring the flecks of red that flew from his mouth.

Gavin grimaced, still looking down at his notebook. Michael recalled Gavin’s gag reflex, and felt a vindictive surge of satisfaction that he was making him uncomfortable, even as the rest of him hurt, hurt so badly, and not from the hole in his chest-

“You _fucking_ asshole,” Michael hissed. “You absolute fucking bastard, what are you even- what were you thinking, why- fucking, _look at me!_ ”

Gavin’s eyes shot up in a glare, and Michael glared back, fists curled at his sides and his short nails digging into his palms.

Gavin sighed, and set his notebook down on the floor beside his chair. “We’re taking you back to Earth.” He said. “We’ll drop you off at a hospital, and everything-”

“Everything will be _fine_ , Gavin? Is that really what you were going to say? Everything will be fucking _fine_ when you fucking drop me off with a fucking _hole_ in my chest?”

“It’s not a fatal shot. The laser molecules missed your heart and lungs-”

“Well whoop-de- _fucking_ -do!”

“I could have let them kill you, but I didn’t, I-”

“You still let them fucking shoot me! You just stood there and let them fucking- why the fuck is this even happening, what-”

“ _Michael_ ,” Gavin pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, and sighed again before dropping them, levelling a look at him. “Michael.” He said again.

Michael just glared, panting; his brief yelling match had tugged painfully at his chest, and no matter what Gavin said, his heart burned and it felt like there wasn’t enough air in his lungs.

“I… made a deal,” he said haltingly, and he looked down at his hands as he spoke. “Awhile ago. When I first started working for the Guide, it was just an excuse to travel around, to get out. I’d been living with Geoff, working on ships with Ryan pretty much 24/7, and before that I hadn’t really been off planet, so when I met these guys…” he winced slightly, but kept his face neutral. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I was a bit drunk. Told them I wanted to travel, that it was all I wanted. Next morning there was a package for me at Geoff’s, a notebook – this notebook – and a letter saying I had a job at the Guide. I almost couldn’t believe it, packed up and left that day, left a note with Geoff to give Ryan, and the next day I was at the Headquarter offices getting my ID card and my first interview instructions.

‘Course, it wasn’t long before I got a message on my notebook, from the guys at the bar, congratulating me. And then they told me exactly how I could repay them. I needed to get them a key, and a ship.”

Gavin looked up and cleared his throat. “The key was on Earth.”

It seemed like he was waiting for Michael to ask for a moment, but when Michael just continued to glare, breathing heavily, he sighed again and stared at the wall.

“It wasn’t even that big a deal. It was literally just a key, simple as you please, to a safety deposit box that they’d found in Space and couldn’t open. Took me a while to find it, since the entry in the Guide for Earth is severely outdated, but I found it eventually, and then I had to wait for a passing ship to get off planet so I could send them the message that I got it. And-” Gavin took a breath. “And I met you.”

The ship lurched suddenly and Gavin quickly put out a hand to the wall to steady himself and the chair, while Michael found himself knocked roughly to one side, his breath catching so that he coughed. More blood speckled the front of his T-shirt. The ship shuddered once, and then evened out. Gavin waited another minute before he continued, glancing at Michael.

“I let them know I had the key, so they sent me the credits and model number for the ship they wanted. I didn’t get any messages for a while after that, nothing about them coming to get it, and I suppose I sort of… just ignored them for a while. So I could do what I originally wanted, and work for the Guide, so I could pretend that- that everything was normal.” He chewed on his lip. “They caught up with me, of course. Weren’t very happy that I’d been avoiding them, and when I accidentally said that you were on board…”

A sharp throb in his chest made Michael close his eyes, breath hitching. He waited for the ache to subside, feeling the humming metal floor beneath him, and listened to his shallow breathing. When he opened his eyes again, Gavin was watching him, leaning forward, his fingers curled in the fabric of his jeans and a pitiful expression on his face.

“Why…” Michael rasped, and then hastily cleared his throat. He was not going to sound weak, he was not going to give Gavin anything else. He wanted Gavin to feel guilty, to feel horrid, he wanted to rage and scream and he desperately _did not want_ to admit how betrayed he felt.

“Why am I here?” he finally asked.

Gavin didn’t meet his eyes. “Cause I asked you to come with me.”

“Why?”

No answer.

“ _Why_ , Gavin?”

“Look, I like you, okay?” Gavin blurted out, a sudden frown on his face. He chewed at his bottom lip, and stood up.

“I liked you.” He repeated, voice quiet. “I really did.” He paused, and then walked slowly over to stand above him. “I just wanted to be selfish, I wanted someone to travel with, I’ve never been good with being… being alone. I just wanted someone to share the Universe with. But I didn’t want you to end up involved in everything. I was going to send you home sooner, I tried to _make_ you go home once I realised, but…”

He squatted down, close enough that Michael could have reached out a hand to him, but he didn’t, fists still clenched at his sides.

“I screwed up.” He said faintly. “I’ve been a screw up for so long, can’t keep myself clean of trouble, though Geoff’s tried, I know, even if he’s tried to be subtle about it, and Ryan-” he shook his head, a small smile on his face. “I’m never going to get clean of this. I really am sorry that… well, I’m sorry for everything. You’d have been better off never meeting me.”

“Yeah,” Michael grit out. “I would have.”

Gavin grimaced, his hand found Michael’s cheek, and he leaned down to press their lips softly together, a brief touch, before he pulled away.

Michael wanted to kill him.

“…I’m sorry Michael-”

There was a sting in his neck, the world went white, he was blind, everything was at once too loud and deafening silence, there was an echoing buzz, a cry, and the hand on his cheek slipped away.

He knew no more.

 


	10. Not Quite - part ten of the known

 

“I’m fucking dead, aren’t I?”

“Nah. Not completely, anyway.”

Michael opened his eyes. It didn’t make much difference. He was in a pitch black room, no clue what size it was, but the way the other voice didn’t echo made him think it couldn’t be that big.

“Where am I?”

There was a low chuckle, slightly familiar. “Right now? My living room.”

Michael frowned at the darkness; it was disconcerting enough that he still couldn’t tell exactly where the voice was coming from, nor why it seemed so familiar.

“The painkillers should wear off in a few minutes, just in case you were wondering.”

“Painkillers?”

“…for the fucking laser hole in your chest?”

Oh. That’s right. He quickly placed a hand over his chest, blinking when all he felt was soft material. He couldn’t feel anything beyond that, no burning pain when he took a breath, no smell of his own blood or burnt flesh. A quick pat down revealed that he was covered in a blanket from the waist down and that he was lying down on several large soft pillows.

“I, uh,” he started, blinking. “I can’t see.”

The voice replied, “Figured that, you’ve been staring at the ceiling since you woke up. It’s a common side effect, should wear off with the painkillers. Just sit tight for a bit. I need to calm down the idiot.” There was the muffled sound of footsteps, and then a door opening and closing again with a _click_.

Michael slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, and put a hand to his chest again instinctively. He could feel bandages under his shirt, wrapped neatly around his torso, and a dull prickling sensation across his ribs.

His vision coming back was like someone _very slowly_ turning a dimmer switch; the vague shapes of his own hands came into focus first, followed by the couch he was sitting on and then the rest of the room, cluttered with shapes of furniture and other things he couldn’t quite make out. The shadows lingering around his eyes made it feel like he was wearing strong sunglasses in a dark room.

He could feel the painkillers wearing off now, judging by the soreness in his chest, though it was nothing compared to what he remembered back on the ship when he’d first been shot, or after in that room with-

A dull anger sparked at the memory of that conversation. Though it had seemed more like a monologue for Gavin; he hadn’t exactly taken much in, too focused on his pain and rage to even accept anything that was being said to him.

Even now he didn’t particularly care about the excuses, the explanation, about anything that had been said.

He wasn’t murderously angry; he just didn’t care.

 “Fucking hell…” he murmured, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead.

(He cared too much.)

Muffled raised voices came from the other side of the door, and Michael had half a second to drop his hand and look up before it burst open, and Gavin tripped over the threshold to fall flat on his face. Geoff, who had obviously been trying to retain him, stood looking down with a mostly annoyed but slightly amused expression. He looked up and caught Michael’s eye, and his expression turned grim.

“Sorry about that.” He said, and reached down to pull Gavin – who had been getting to his feet – up by the scruff of his shirt. “Good to see you, Michael. Let me just get this idiot out of here and-”

“No- Geoff, wait, I need to-” Gavin’s wild eyes swung around to Michael, pleading.

Geoff clapped a hand over his mouth, and pulled him bodily out of the room, muttering to someone in the hallway as he passed. A second later and to Michael’s surprise, Ryan stepped into the room, followed by a blonde woman with tattoos up her bare arms. She shut the door behind her, and then made her way directly over to him, holding out a bowl of pasta with a grin on her face. As he took it, he noticed some of the tattoos on her arms move.

“Thanks.” He said, a small smile forming on his face as he inhaled the smell of cheese and tomatoes and parsley. “I’m-”

“Michael, yes, I know.” She took a seat by his feet and he hastily bent his legs to give her room. “I’m Griffon, Geoff’s better half.” She looked up at Ryan, who was still standing near the door. “I believe you two have met.”

Ryan nodded, blue unstaring eyes fixed on Michael. “Yes, we have. You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.”

Griffon snorted. “That’s because the last time you saw him you were stitching him up on our dining room table and he was covered in blood.”

“This is true.” Ryan chuckled lowly.

Michael stared. “You’re a surgeon too?” he asked.

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “No.”

Griffon spoke up when Michael opened his mouth again. “Don’t tease the boy, he’s had a rough night.”

“I’m not though.”

Griffon just rolled her eyes and looked pointedly at the bowl of pasta still in Michael’s hands. His stomach took that opportunity to rumble, and he quickly loaded up his fork and began eating. The food was heavenly, and he suddenly wondered when the last time he had something that was obviously a hand-cooked meal.

“It was a very clean shot.” Ryan said conversationally. “Hardly grazed your sternum, almost dead centre, and lasers always leave very clean wounds. It shouldn’t take long for you to be up and about as normal.”

Michael swallowed. “Thank you, for, you know, making sure I didn’t die.” He said awkwardly.

Ryan just laughed. “I wouldn’t have had a choice even if I didn’t want to.” He nodded at the closed door. “Certain someone would’ve found a way to blow up my ship if I didn’t help. Even though it _was_ my ship and crew that saved him from those lowlife.”

“You-” Michael shook his head. “What… actually happened? Last thing I remember was-”

A needle in his neck, a flash of white light, lips on his-

Griffon and Ryan exchanged a look, and Griffon gently took Michael’s bowl from him.

“Your ship sent out a distress signal, the exact words were ‘shitload of blood; idiot’s fault; big gun fuckers’ and then a set of coordinates along with a hyperspace skip code.” She said. “Geoff plugged them in, and the next second, we were out in the middle of dead space, Ryan was calling us on board in the middle of a gunfight and Gavin was attempting to behead one of them.”

“He didn’t even have a weapon.” Ryan said amusedly. “Just trying to wrench the guy’s head off while hanging on his back. Looked ridiculous.”

“Unsurprisingly.” Griffon added. She turned back to Michael and patted his knee. “He told us everything, you know.” She continued softly. “I know he’s an idiot, but he really is sorry, and if it makes you feel better, Geoff hasn’t left him alone for it. Gavin bruises like a peach.”

The fond yet exasperated tone she used made Michael smile unthinkingly.

“I… I’m not sure I forgive him,” he said slowly. “But I don’t actually want to kill him anymore, so,” he took a breath. “So I don’t mind if he wants to, wants to see me. To talk.”

Ryan scoffed quietly, but Griffon was smiling at him, and she patted his knee once more before standing.

“It’s more than he deserves.” She said. “But I’m glad. He’s like family, and even if more often than not he’s infuriatingly stupid, we stick with it.”

As she turned to leave, Ryan reaching for the door, her words sparked a memory in his head, and he hastily called to her. She paused, and he touched the bandages on his chest once more before he worded his request.

“Do you have a phone? I need to… I need to make a call.”

 

…

 

It wasn’t until after Ryan had given him a check up, asking him to breathe and stretch his arms to make sure his light stitches would hold, and after Geoff had taken him through to a spare bedroom, given him a change of clothes and a plate of his second delicious meal of the day, that he finally saw Gavin.

Geoff had been keeping him away, and Michael couldn’t suppress the twitch of a smile when Gavin limped awkwardly into his room, as if he’d received a powerful kick up the backside. Gavin hesitated for a second, and then closed the door softly, standing only a few steps inside the room.

Michael raised an eyebrow. “Hey Gavin.”

He winced, but a small smile appeared on his face. “Hi Michael.” His eyebrows pulled together, and he chewed on his lower lip, and it was somehow that more than anything that annoyed Michael most.

“Stop it.”

Gavin jumped at his voice, and released his lip long enough to open his mouth, but Michael held up a hand to stop him.

“Gavin-”

(And in his whole life, he’d never thought one word could be enough, never realised that somehow, in just over two weeks – two tiny and yet impossibly huge weeks – one word could come to mean so much. Could represent so much to him; so much anger and frustration and wonder and laughter and the sight of stars and galaxies and the infinite reaches of Space, of the small things like a smile that would always make him smile in return no matter how much he didn’t want to, of the simple feeling of a hand in his and the comfort that came from knowing there was someone, always someone, through it all. Even a fucking hole in his chest couldn’t come close to being enough to squash that overwhelming sense of comfort. Comfort amidst chaos.)

“- I forgive you, you moron.”

 

…

 

The second time they kissed was almost an accident.

Gavin was still obviously feeling guilty, judging by the way he’d look when he thought Michael wasn’t, and the small hesitation before he’d take his hand. He almost teased him about it, but Geoff and Griffon already did that enough. They were staying with the Ramseys at the moment, and whenever Michael and Gavin were left to talk or play games or help around the house together, Geoff or Griffon would always find the time to appear and joke about how it took a shot to the heart for them to realise the way they felt for each other. (It didn’t help that when Ryan had given him the all clear to remove his bandages the leftover scarring looked suspiciously like a cursive G.)

Michael had gone to bed early, and the chatter of the Ramseys was drifting through from the living room when Gavin had softly knocked at the door.

“I was just- how’re you feeling?”

He’d almost laughed at Gavin’s transparent mumblings, and waved him over to the bed without answering. He was too used to sleeping side by side anyway.

It was Gavin’s hand, hesitant on his own, that had him shifting onto his side and drawing Gavin close with an arm about his shoulders. Foreheads touching, Gavin had traced his fingers across the middle of Michael’s chest.

“I could ask Geoff if we could hitch a ride, go for a day trip somewhere. If you’re bored of just hanging around, that is.” He added quickly.

Michael smiled, and pulled him closer unthinkingly, so that when he replied their lips brushed.

“I’d like that.” He whispered, and Gavin shivered, and then they’d traded kisses until they fell asleep, wrapped around each other.

 

They’d woken to Geoff and Griffon leaning over the bed with a video camera, and when Gavin had protested, squawking, it was only natural for Michael to shut him up by grasping his chin in one hand and pressing their lips together to the loud cheers of the Ramseys.

They still argued, Gavin still made his mistakes – never so tremendously huge anymore – and Michael still questioned his sanity when he found himself caught up in any number of Gavin’s harebrained schemes. But he took the bad with the good, and when he added it all up, after everything, there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

 


End file.
